“Any of the associates in my firm would do.”
I raise a brow at his continued reluctance. “Think of this trip as a working vacation.”
He swirls the contents in his glass, not looking at me.
“Fine,” I say, indulging him. “A favor, then.” Our debate isn’t new. Each time he visits the small town, it is like dragging Mason through a bed of hot coal. I have reasons for not visiting. One of those reasons has everything to do with the owner of Cupid, and documents in my hand.
“All I’m asking for is two weeks.”
He grunts, taking a swallow from his drink. “What about Charity?”
“Is your sour mode about my daughter?” Mason flinches, a subtle reaction, but I see his fingers clutch the glass tighter.
“While you’re off saving Naomi’s business, I’m expected to babysit.”
I chuckle. He has every right to be pissed off. The last time he’d looked in on Charity, he returned to New York in a foul mood.
“She won’t take well to that.”
“Sending you to Candy Cane to do my job was my mistake.” I cringe. She’s my daughter but she’s no child. “You’re the two most important people in my life, for Christ's sake. Let me deal with Charity, but you’re not spending another Christmas alone.”
“Nate—”
I hold up my hand to halt his protest. “I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, perhaps this is an opportunity for you two to put whatever is going on between you to bed.” Their relationship isn’t one of hate, yet there’s always an underlying tension that I chalked up to Charity’s rebellious young adult years. Those years were behind her. Surely they can get along as adults.
“Two weeks,” Mason says. He sets his glass on the small side table. When he takes the tablet, going to the contract Naomi signed, I know he has resigned himself to spending the holiday in Candy Cane. “Does Naomi know you own Quadpoint? The company she’s now in partnership with.”
I clench my jaw. Naomi thinks I’m a coldhearted businessman and would resist working with me if she knew the extent of my involvement. “No, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
CHAPTER FOUR
NAOMI
Iinhale the crisp evening air, willing myself to smile, or at the very least, pretend to hear what Travis is saying. But it’s difficult to focus when there’s a million things I need to finish to satisfy my new investor.
“Hmm.” I give an absent reply.
“You’re drifting again.”
“I’m not.” I bat my lashes to hide the embarrassed flush heating my neck.
“Yeah?” His smile is lopsided. “Then what did I say?”
My forehead wrinkles in concentration, but for the life of me, I can’t recall. “You said that our next date will have music and dancing.”
We’re halfway through the decorative maze in the park. “I’m glad you agree to go on a second date with me—”
“Who said anything about agreeing?” I tease. “I’m just repeating what you said.”
“Well played.” He smiles. “What if I said another date will make me the happiest man?”
“It doesn’t take much to make you happy, does it?”
“Not if I’m getting what I want.”
“What is it you want, Travis?” So far, he’s been extremely patient. I admit to intentionally slowing any relationship with him to a crawl. Not because he isn’t good looking or kind, the latter being a quality I want in any partner. Guilt stops me. How can I enter a relationship with one man while another man lives in my head?
“I haven’t kept my interest a secret, Naomi. I like you and want to get to know you.”
